


Kings and Vagabonds

by seashadows



Category: Glee
Genre: (it's Sue Sylvester), Confrontations, Gen, Mentions of the Holocaust, Racist Language, anti-semitic language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 06:44:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9372818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seashadows/pseuds/seashadows
Summary: Everyone at this school and their sainted mother knows that, with Berry saying it, ‘anti-Semitic slurs’ plus ‘Cheerios’ is code for ‘Santana Lopez,’ which is in turn code for ‘I’m an insecure little troll with daddy, mommy, and boyfriend issues and a dress sense that would make any funeral home proud to have me as its fall lineup model.’Rachel has a long-overdue conversation with Sue.





	

When Rachel Berry walks into Sue’s office – walking, not marching, with that ridiculously insulted look off her face for once – Sue figures it might be in her best interests to let the gremlin talk. “What is it?” she asks, clicking out of her browser window. Stuff like what she's looking at isn’t meant for eyes that aren’t hers, period, whether virgin or debauched. 

With any luck, her tone would’ve made Berry turn tail and run out the door, but nope. “Coach Sylvester,” she says simply, “I’d like the Cheerios to stop using anti-Semitic language around me.” 

Great, this again. Not that Berry, to her limited credit, has brought it up before. But everyone at this school and their sainted mother knows that, with Berry saying it, ‘anti-Semitic slurs’ plus ‘Cheerios’ is code for ‘Santana Lopez,’ which is in turn code for ‘I’m an insecure little troll with daddy, mommy, and boyfriend issues and a dress sense that would make any funeral home proud to have me as its fall lineup model.’ “There’s nothing I can do about what your fellow students say to you,” Sue tells her, folding her hands on her desk. 

“With all due respect, Coach, that’s _crap_ ,” and that is the closest thing to a swear that Sue’s ever heard out of Berry’s prim mouth. “I don’t feel safe,” the girl adds, and meets Sue’s eyes. The fire there is real, not affected; Sue can tell at a glance. 

“Whatever issues you have with Santana Lopez,” Sue begins, but cuts herself off with a laugh when she sees Berry start rummaging through her purse. “Did you _bring paperwork_ to try to win an argument with me? That’s bringing a knife to a gun fight, kiddo. Semi-admirable foresight, inadequate weapon.” 

But Berry shakes her head and, instead of a sheaf of paper thicker than Ohio’s very own William Howard Taft before he dropped the job and the weight, she takes out a photo. “This isn’t to win an argument,” she says quietly. “I always have it with me.” 

Sue takes the photo and promptly takes a gander. It’s sepia, therefore old and irrelevant, and the young man and woman in the image are dressed too plainly to make up for that shortcoming. “Any particular reason I’m holding this, Small Fry?” 

“Those are my grandparents.” Berry’s eyes briefly drop to her lap. When they resurface, her words start to come faster and faster. “They survived Auschwitz, Coach Sylvester. The Nazis put them in there because of their _race_. I’ve heard the stories. I know I’m not in real danger in comparison. But Santana…Santana calls me Yentl and tells me to go back to Israel and I also know she’s not saying it because of my religion. Everyone says those things because of my ethnicity and the way I look. I’m aware I don’t pass for white. So even if I’m not technically related to my grandparents – “ 

“Gonna stop you in the middle of your tirade,” Sue says, “because I can say with about a hundred and two percent certainty that you are.” No telling if ‘Shelby Corcoran’ is a stage name masking more Semitic origins, but if Berry isn’t at least half-Jewish, Sue will devour her best tracksuit without even giving it a ritual autoclaving to remove the carbs first. 

The girl fixes her with a look. “My father Leroy is mixed-race,” she says, “and his side of the family is certain I inherited his hair.” 

“Fair enough,” Sue replies. “So what exactly do you want from me?” 

Berry takes a deep breath. “I know I’m not in danger of dying,” she says, “not like my grandparents. Still, when I say I don’t feel safe, I don’t feel safe.” 

Sue nods; somewhere in the finely-tuned machine that is her chest cavity, she feels stirrings. Damn Berry. “Okay.” 

“There are people even in this school who aren’t sure I’m human,” Berry says, and the statement has an unprecedented air of finality. “I shouldn’t have to prove that I am to make them stop.” 

So she’s going for the Shylock routine. Unorthodox in this setting, but Sue has to give her props for honesty. One thing that Rachel Berry is not is a liar. “I’ll see what I can do,” she says, echoing Berry’s quiet tone. “Go back to class now, Rachel.” 

She takes a calculated fifty minutes after Berry leaves (the length of one class period, give or take a rampage in the halls) to call Santana in. No need to alert her to the narc. “Lopez,” she says bluntly when Santana comes swaggering in, “enough Jew cracks around Berry. It stops now.” 

As expected, Santana rolls her eyes to the ceiling. “Come on, Coach –“ 

“ _Now_ ,” Sue repeats, interrupting a student (with great satisfaction, she notes) for the second time in an hour. “My mother single-handedly fought a war so that kid doesn’t have to hear that kind of bull, and lemme tell you, Sue Sylvester doesn’t like fighting the same wars twice. Makes for bad TV.” 

She has no idea if Santana believes the line, but she does look shaken, so Sue decides to twist the thumbscrews a little. “You know those two gay dads Berry’s always yakking on about?” she asks. “Those two’ll probably get their friends in the ACLU to bring a suit against this school if they hear, and don’t labor under the delusion that I won’t shove you under the metaphorical bus faster than you can say _¡arriba!_. Gotta be practical. Tell your fellow ankle-biters the news.” 

This, at least, is familiar territory; it earns another eye-roll. “I get it,” Santana says. “Whatever. I’ll lay off. Can I go now?” 

Sue dismisses her with a wave, and God help her – when she gets ready to fire up the ol’ word processor to draft a scathing script for her latest Sue’s Corner, she’s smiling. 

Maybe some kids just have that effect on her. Still, she’ll slaughter Schuester à la Texas Chainsaw Massacre in front of all his gaping kids before ever letting Berry know. A girl has to have _some_ standards.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from the Elton John single version of "Can You Feel the Love Tonight," which Sue probably thinks is running through her head at this level of sap (from her, anyway). 
> 
> I can be found as godihatethisfreakingcat on Tumblr.


End file.
